


all my tiles seemed broken

by marim00m00



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama & Romance, Happy Ending, M/M, Romance, mentions of intimacy, post-monster, temporary coma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 05:15:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18190238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marim00m00/pseuds/marim00m00
Summary: Eliot was drifting somewhere between unconsciousness and reality, the voices of those he cared about most keeping him tied to the ground like a kite. He could distinguish them by tone, having long ago memorized their sounds. Margo was harsh though the words she spoke were laced with sad bitterness. Fen was sweet, always, whispering about how well the kingdom was doing since magic returned and how perfect it would all be if he simply woke up.Then there was Quentin. Quentin, Quentin, Q. His voice stood out because it was never the same twice. It all depended on his mood, how frustrated he was and where his patience lay. Today seemed different because Eliot felt oddly grounded and Quentin seemed oddly confident in his words.OREliot is in a coma post-monster, yet hears everything he has to say with some thoughts of his own.(Duet work to "carefully laying down the tiles")





	all my tiles seemed broken

**Author's Note:**

> For those looking for the first installment: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18174074
> 
> Though it doesn't particularly matter the order in which you read them.

Eliot was drifting somewhere between unconsciousness and reality, the voices of those he cared about most keeping him tied to the ground like a kite. He could distinguish them by tone, having long ago memorized their sounds. Margo was harsh though the words she spoke were laced with sad bitterness. Fen was sweet, always, whispering about how well the kingdom was doing since magic returned and how perfect it would all be if he simply woke up.

Then there was Quentin. Quentin, Quentin, Q. His voice stood out because it was never the same twice. It all depended on his mood, how frustrated he was and where his patience lay. Today seemed different because Eliot felt oddly grounded and Quentin seemed oddly confident in his words.

"Fifty years, who gets proof of concept like that?" Quentin chuckled, the sound bringing Eliot to Fillory. "Come at me Coldwater," is what he remembered saying in a similar fashion, chuckle and all.

"You could have confessed that a lot better."

_Well fuck you too, Q_ , was Eliot's thought on that. At least he tried. There wasn't exactly a manual for confessing perfectly in a span of seconds while your body was inhabited by a fucking demon. But, yeah, next time he'd try to be a bit more poetic. 

There's a pause before he speaks again, and he just knows the wheels in Quentin's mind are working overtime. They always are. "Y'know, I've actually been thinking about those fifty years. Trying to come up with something poetic to say in response. Yet it all ends up wrong up here, and the words get jumbled. But it's worth trying again right?" 

_Yes, please. You were always the brave one Quentin._

"I was thinking about the mosaic. All those memories, they're crystal clear, like I could jump right in and live it now. I can sometimes feel the roughness of the tiles in my hands, the ache in my back and knees." Eliot could practically hear the smile in his tone, and if he could he would have smiled right back. "I started drawing the patterns, or at least the ones I can recall. There were so damn many I don't know how we ever thought we could get through all the combinations in one lifetime."

"I think about Teddy too. I still firmly stand by my opinion that he got his attitude from you. And his smart mouth." Quentin snorted, Eliot wishing he could roll his eyes dramatically. "If you were awake right now, would you fight me on that? Probably not. You've always been proud of the extremely negative influence you can have on people. Especially in regards to their mouths."  _Sarcastic little asshole. Wait until I snap out of this._ Eliot was always amused by Quentin and his little moments of confidence where he could roam freely and say how the fuck he felt. It was a spectacular sight.

_No, Q, I'd never fight you on that. Especially when it comes to the best part of the human body besides...well, that's not the time for_ that.

"Proof of concept. That afternoon, I could tell something was holding you back. Fuck Eliot, we spent fifty years together. A whole god damn lifetime, did you really think I couldn't tell when you were lying to me? It still... _broke_ me. To hear you say that it wasn't us because I knew the truth. Everyday spent with our little cottage, our mosaic, our life, was completely us. Irrefutably. How could you turn on that?" Hearing his Q break down made Eliot feel like the biggest piece of shit. He knew the time they had spent together, all those years could just be erased. Like Q knew him, Eliot knew Q. He knew what would hurt him and keep himself protected. He was a selfish man who felt truly undeserving of love.

_I didn't want to turn on you, ever. Not on you or us or anything we shared together in our lifetime. You were always it Quentin Coldwater. Always all I needed and exactly what I wanted._

"Then I saw you that afternoon, through the monster. I saw your eyes and I knew. I knew because I've seen the same look in my own eyes when I look in the mirror. Apologetic, feeling undeserving of love and forgiveness. Unwanted. Sad. In case you haven't noticed, I'm the kicked puppy of the group. Kind of an expert in self-deprecation."

_I felt it that afternoon. If only you knew what it had taken for me to be able to see you again. To say those words. I mustered every bit of courage my tired body could produce just to let you know how much I fucking loved you. How I wanted to make everything right._

"Then I also saw fire. A fire that showed me how alive you were. Desperate to be set free. Peaches and plums, motherfucker. That was your call to action, wasn't it? A bold declaration of how you wanted to fight? Either that, or I'm misconstruing the limited window you seemed to have on freedom for poetry. Oh well." 

_No, no, Q. You're right on the money. I wasn't sure who I was going to see at the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. I had it planned out if it was Margo, or maybe Fen. That would have been easy. Then there was warmth and sun and god..._ you.  _I'd never felt such happiness in my life because for once, I had the opportunity to make it right and choose you. This whole bullshit about second chances was real and I needed to take it. Once I'd had it...I was prepared to do anything in my power to get out of the hell of my mind and get to you. To us._

"Here's my bit of poetry for you. Will probably suck and take way too much time but I don't give a fuck. I'm selfish Eliot, selfish in wanting more than fifty years. So here goes."

"The mosaic. It was more than a quest, and more than a representation of a life we'd lived together. Life is made up of all these little components of memories that can be happy, sad, confusing and sometimes exhilarating. Sometimes they're a strange combination of emotions. They're unique, like the tiles we lay down or the patterns we created. The mosaic was a representation of how we grew together, how our love grew and extended to Arielle and Teddy. How we never forgot Julia, Margo or even Penny. The pain of not seeing them again. The rush when we kissed for the first time, truly. The mosaic was love in its purest form. The physical evidence of proof of concept."

Eliot could envision the soft sensation of Quentin's lips on his own, on his skin. He was addicted to the softness of his longer hair and the structure of his body. Memories of sleepless nights laying atop a half-finished mosaic draped in homemade quilts laughing. The crushing pain at Arielle's death, his desperation to keep their small family intact by some shred of a miracle. He started to feel again, in the tips of his fingers, twitching them lightly.

"That's why I wanted to write them down again. I wanted to see each image and recall a memory and write it down. Immortalize our story so that if you wake up and keep pushing me away, I can shove it in your face and say: Fuck Eliot, just  _look. Listen and look for once in your fucking life._ " Quentin was crying and Eliot could start to feel his throat tighten, a lump there that was hard to swallow. There was more feeling now, going to his toes. "I fought too hard for you. I almost died at the hands of a monster who had your eyes, your  _voice,_ hell even your smell because I wasn't willing to give up when everyone else was. I couldn't risk breaking a single tile of ours, because breaking one meant ruining it all and I hate letting go. That's why I never stopped reading about Fillory, even as a grown ass man."

_Your blatant determination and idiotic bravery, your childish delight, your demanding for me to see what I refuse to is all apart of why I love you Quentin. You kept our tiles so safe and protected, whole, when I thought mine were broken long ago. I saw each painful flash of my past, re-lived my darkest moments and saw all of those as another fracture line to my soul. Little did I know mister Coldwater would saunter in his drab cotton armor with those doe eyes and completely prove Eliot Waugh wrong._

_"_ So yeah, proof of concept. Peaches and plums, motherfucker. I love you. So it would be great if you could wake the hell up so we can just kiss and live happily ever after. Y'know, not be a difficult asshole and make all this pining shit more heart wrenching. Because after all this, everything we've been through, can you at least admit we both deserve some happiness?"

_I love you so much Quentin Makepeace Coldwater._

He was completely still as his senses slowly came back to him. He wasn't sure if this was the work of magic or just for the pure magicial, fairy tale aesthetic of the moment, but he wasn't going to question it. Like pushing through the monster's control of his body that afternoon, Eliot was regaining control from this stupid fucking coma. He wanted to open his eyes and see Quentin again and never stop seeing. To hold him again, to kiss him. Fuck, kissing him would be nice.

_I think you're right. We do deserve some happiness for once._

_Peaches and plums, motherfucker. I hope you're ready._

"I just really wish you would wake up Eliot. I miss you."

_Guess that's my signal, huh universe?_

His voice didn't sound quite like him, and his body felt foreign. But he'd adjust. Quentin would help him.

God....Quentin. The light was a bit blinding as he opened his eyes, but he took that steadying first breath and all centered itself. Seeing the man he spent a lifetime with again in another one made his heart feel feathery and light. As if he might drift away.

_Fuck fairy tales. I prefer this reality, our reality. Time to man the fuck up Waugh, and show Quentin just how brave you've become._

"Life is like laying down tiles huh? And you said I was bad at confessions."


End file.
